


someone I maybe might love

by fliptomybside



Series: you can hear it in the silence [3]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: harry picks fionn up from class. there's kissing involved.





	someone I maybe might love

**Author's Note:**

> Just some more uni!fionnry, as always co-written by [Em](http://fullstopmgnt.tumblr.com) (she came up with the best bits). Takes place after [Let's kiss and then take off our clothes.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12013146) Title from Supercut by Lorde, unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

Harry’s shiny black Range Rover is waiting outside when Fionn finishes class at 9. It’s vaguely ostentatious even in the dark, if that’s a thing that’s possible. He can’t quite squash the fluttering in his stomach when he sees it. It’s still hard to wrap his head around, Harry picking him up from his late class in a car that cost more than the house Fionn grew up in, like this is normal. It’s not normal, is the thing, Fionn thinks, picking up speed when he sees Harry roll the window down and wave a ring-heavy hand in Fionn’s direction.

There are still a fair number of people milling around, even though Fionn personally makes a point not to stay on campus after 5 pm if he can help it, and he gets caught up for a second imagining people watching him. The casual, achingly normal domesticity of Harry picking him up from class, braving London traffic so they can spend a few more minutes together. 

The car smells expensive and faintly of fruit when Fionn hops in. He doesn’t even think before he leans over and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s grinning at him when he pulls back, one hand on the gear stick.

“Good class?”

Fionn shrugs and wills the blush to recede from his cheeks as Harry pulls out into traffic. 

“Same old. ‘S nice not to have to run for the tube after, though.”

Harry’s grin is blinding in the dark of his car, and Fionn can’t keep a matching one from spreading across his face. 

-

They get takeaway from a little indian place that Fionn frequented during first year. Harry insists on doing all the legwork, and for all the excitement of Harry picking him up, Fionn almost falls asleep in the time it takes for Harry to get back.

“Sorry,” he whispers, trying to climb back in the car quietly. 

Fionn watches him maneuver his long legs, lets his eyes catch on Harry’s rings as he lowers the bag of food into the back seat.

“No, sorry, ‘m awake,” Fionn mumbles, blinking rapidly and trying to straighten up in his seat, “smells good.”

“Could hear your stomach growling, so I got an extra curry. Figured we could split it, or you can just have it.”

Fionn’s stomach clenches again, and he wants to freeze this moment in time so he can just curl up inside it.

“Thanks,” he says after a minute. 

His voice sounds rough to his own ears, and it’s ridiculous, because it’s just a fucking curry, but it’s Harry picking him up and getting him food and all of these little things that are spots of brightness in Fionn’s otherwise mundane life.

Harry just reaches over to put his hand on Fionn’s thigh. It’s just warm, gentle pressure, not meant to lead anywhere, but Fionn shudders anyway. He can’t tear his eyes away from how huge Harry’s hand looks, rubbing soft circles against Fionn’s thigh with his thumb.

He doesn’t move it until he turns on to Fionn’s street and has to squeeze into a parking spot.

“Okay if I come up for a bit?”

Fionn rolls his eyes, because it’s ridiculous for Harry to even ask at this point, as if he hasn’t been in Fionn’s flat more times than he can count, but it’s still nice, the way Harry’s careful about how he slots himself into Fionn’s space.

“No, Harry, I’m gonna take all the curries for myself and send you off after you went out of your way to pick me up and get food.”

Harry just furrows his brow and flaps his hands at Fionn, like he doesn’t even have words, and Fionn knows he’s completely gone because even this is endearing. 

Harry winces as he attempts to fish the bag of takeaway out of the back seat, and Fionn gently pulls his arm back.

“I’ll get it, c’mon, you’re the one with the bad back.”

Harry acquiesces with a sigh and hops out of the car. Fionn doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until Harry’s already pulled his door open and extended his hand for Fionn to take.

“Jesus, Harry,” he says, face burning, because it’s absolutely absurd, Harry helping him out of his fuck off expensive Range Rover in front of Fionn’s shitty uni flat. 

“Humor me, please,” Harry says, and Fionn takes his hand without letting himself look Harry in the face, because that way lies madness, he knows. Madness that involves kissing and letting the food go cold. 

Harry tugs him forward gently once he’s out of the car and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s close mouthed and sweet, Harry’s hands curling around his elbows, and Fionn doesn’t really know what to do with the warmth bubbling up in his chest. He breaks the kiss after a minute, pulls back just enough so that Harry’s face comes into focus again. Harry’s eyes are still closed, and Fionn would do anything to know what he’s thinking, if he’s wondering just like Fionn how they ended up here, lives comfortably intertwined. 

Fionn’s stomach growls again, breaking the moment. Harry dimples at him, and Fionn grips him by the hips and starts walking him backwards towards the door. 

-

Getting upstairs takes longer with Harry going backward, but Fionn can’t stop kissing him, pausing every few feet to press another to Harry’s mouth, his lips getting redder and redder. Harry doesn’t have the greatest control over his limbs walking forward, and going backward only makes it worse, but he grins at Fionn the whole way, reaches forward to push Fionn’s glasses back up the bridge of his nose when they start to slide down.

“I like the glasses,” Harry says once they’re inside.

It’s quiet in his flat, and Fionn loves Tom, but it’s nice to have a night with Harry in his own space uninterrupted. 

“Course you do.”

Fionn leans into Harry’s space to kiss him again, swallowing up the heeeyy that slips out of his mouth. He kisses him until Harry presses him against the door and he can feel Harry getting hard against him.

“Food’ll get cold,” he says against Harry’s mouth, and he feels a bit bad, but Harry just pulls back with a smile and pushes him toward the couch.

“Go, sit, I’ll get everything together.”

Fionn’s too tired to protest, even though his body’s still lit up from the press of Harry’s against it. He lets his bag slip off his shoulders and leaves it by the door, kicks off his shoes before padding over to the couch. He should probably shower, because once he sits down, he’s never going to want to get back up again, but the lure of not having to hold himself up is overwhelming.

He can hear Harry moving around in the kitchen. Glasses clinking and drawers opening and closing. Fionn curls his toes in his socks and lets himself sink into his corner of the couch.

“Falling asleep on me?” Harry asks what must be a few minutes later, and Fionn blinks over at him and rights himself.

Harry’s got wine poured and the curries portioned out, and Fionn makes grabby hands at the bowl Harry’s holding just out of reach.

“‘M awake,” Fionn says, stretching up to grab the bowl from Harry.

Harry must’ve heated it back up, because it’s warm in his hands, and Fionn’s sure that he’s never been this comfortable in his life. He can feel the couch sink under Harry’s weight, and then Harry’s tucking his feet under Fionn’s ass and wiggling his toes.

“Harry,” Fionn starts, because it’s ridiculous and a bit tickly, but Harry tries to pout at him around a mouthful of curry and Fionn can’t help but laugh. “You look about five years old, just so you know.”

Harry just shrugs and tips his head to the side so he’s resting it against the back of the couch.

“I like your bum,” he says, “and your couch. ‘M never leaving.”

Fionn can’t figure out how he’s ended up with all of this; what he’s done to deserve this life with this boy.

“Hey,” Harry says after a minute, “I’m trying to curry favor, here, ‘s it working?”

Fionn can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, loud and unexpected, and it makes Harry laugh too, and Fionn has to lean over to set his bowl down, takes Harry’s out of his hands and puts it on the table Tom brought with him from home so he crawl into Harry’s space.

“Think it might be,” he says, so close to Harry that his face is just blurred shapes and flashes of green eyes.

Every time they’re on the couch Fionn thinks about the first time they fucked. How the room was tight with tension and Fionn thought he was going to explode, how Harry pulled him in, the way his dick felt pressed up against Fionn’s ass. How his thighs ached for days after, a constant reminder of what they’d done.

This is different. Still good--just slow. Languid but tinged with the promise of something more. Harry grips his hips and wiggles his way back so he’s flat on the couch, Fionn’s legs stretched on either side of his hips.

Fionn just looks down at him for a second, the way his hair’s falling back off of his forehead, how his chest is rising with each breath, the points of his nipples apparent through his thin t-shirt. 

“Hi,” he says, then he leans down to kiss Harry, adjusting until their hips are aligned and Harry’s gasping into his mouth and digging bruises into Fionn’s hips. 

It’s too easy to lick into Harry’s mouth, to taste the curry he was just eating; easy to start to move his hips against Harry’s in a slow, easy rhythm that’s just enough to get both of them well on their way to hard. Fionn can feel the line of Harry’s dick every time he presses down, and it makes him groan into Harry’s mouth. 

“Love being a couch potato with you,” Harry says into his mouth an indeterminate amount of time later, when Fionn’s lips feel swollen from kissing so much and he’s reached the point where he’s been distantly hard for so long that he’s not even that fussed about getting off.

He pulls back to press a trail of wet kisses along the curve of Fionn’s jaw, and Fionn loses the plot for a second, curls his fingers into Harry’s chest and lets the heat of Harry’s body bleed into his.

“It’s late,” Harry murmurs against his skin, “should probably head out.”

Fionn lets his eyes fall shut for a minute, just so he can lose himself in the drag of Harry’s lips at his jaw. 

“Or,” he forces out, “you could stay.”

“Or I could stay,” Harry says, kissing his way back up to Fionn’s mouth and pulling him flush against him again.

-

It’s still strange, the way Harry’s slotted himself into Fionn’s life so seamlessly it’s like he was always there, crowded into Fionn and Tom’s tiny bathroom. Magnetic, shiny Harry, accidentally elbowing Fionn over and over again as they stand side by side at the sink, brushing their teeth.

Fionn can’t help but look at them in the mirror, his eyes catching Harry’s. He’s taller than Fionn. Like, fairly significantly when they’re standing next to each other like this. They look so different, Fionn’s sharp angles against all of Harry’s soft, and it makes a little thrill run down Fionn’s spine. 

Harry’s the best thing he’s ever seen even with toothpaste dribbling down his chin. Fionn blinks when Harry leans down to spit in the sink, his hair brushing against Fionn’s lower stomach on the way down. 

“I still don’t understand why you had a spare toothbrush in your car,” Fionn says after he spits, and Harry throws his head back in a laugh. 

Fionn remembers the first time Harry slept over, how careful he was not to trod on any boundaries Fionn might have (not that Fionn really has those where Harry’s concerned, if he’s honest), which included, apparently, racing outside to retrieve a spare toothbrush from his car so Fionn wouldn’t have to share his. 

“You never know when you might need to make a good first impression,” Harry says, gripping Fionn’s shoulders and spinning him around so he can push him out of the bathroom.

He drapes himself over FIonn’s back and rests his head on Fionn’s shoulder, shuffles them across the hall to Fionn’s small bedroom. 

“I’ll be honest,” Harry says, shutting the door behind them and stripping off his pants, “I used to have a lot of--sleepovers? Like, sometimes unexpected ones, so,” he trails off and shrugs.

He’s so fucking beautiful, Fionn thinks, watching Harry climb into bed next to him, naked as the day he was born. He tries to ignore the clench of jealousy in his stomach. He doesn’t want to think about all the people that have touched Harry. The people Harry’s touched. He’s with you now, Fionn tells himself. 

“Got around a bit, did you,” Fionn says, and they’ve talked about this before, what they’ve done and with who, but Fionn’s not looking for answers or explanations now, just wants to tease, but Harry’s face softens. 

“Don’t have any spare toothbrushes in my car now,” he says quietly, his breath warm against Fionn’s face, “just the one here.”

Fionn knows they’re exclusive, but it still lights him up inside when Harry mentions it, like he wants Fionn to remember how present he is. Like Fionn could forget. 

“Harry,” he starts, and he doesn’t know exactly what’s going to come out of his mouth, but Harry cuts him off with his lips before he can put a name to the feeling bubbling up in his chest.

-

He wakes up with Harry’s mouth on his cock. He sucks in a breath and gasps, tries not to buck up into Harry’s mouth. He blinks down at the blurry shape of Harry’s face, wishes he had his glasses on or his contacts in so he could see clearly, because Harry with his lips stretched around Fionn’s dick is a sight Fionn never wants to forget.

Harry’s got him pinned to the mattress, thumbs pressing bruises into the thin skin over Fionn’s hips and his own hips moving steadily against the mattress. 

“Harry, fuck,” Fionn groans, and his voice sounds deep and scratchy to his own ears. 

“Mmm,” Harry hums around his cock, and Fionn can’t stop watching the rise of Harry’s ass as he gets himself off at the same time.

“You’re gonna fucking come on my sheets, aren’t you,” Fionn pants, slamming his eyes shut as Harry swallows around him.

Harry doesn’t even pull off, just sucks Fionn down again and digs his fingernails into Fionn’s hips and that’s all it takes for Fionn to spill in Harry’s mouth, the sharp hint of pain making his dick twitch weakly through the aftershocks. 

Harry licks him clean with a gentleness that makes Fionn squirm a little, then rests his head on Fionn’s hip and works himself off against the mattress. Fionn can feel it when he comes, the way his hips speed up and then stop when Harry exhales hot and wet against his skin. 

“I’ll change your sheets,” Harry mumbles against his hips, and Fionn drifts off before he can come up with a response.

-

Harry’s not in bed when Fionn wakes up again, but he can smell something frying in the kitchen, so he rolls himself out of bed and pulls a clean pair of pants and his glasses on before he stumbles into the kitchen.

Tom’s at the table with his head down, and when Fionn turns, he sees Harry naked at the stove, ass winter pale. 

“Jesus christ,” Fionn splutters, torn between dragging Tom out of the kitchen and covering Harry up.

“I shouldn’t be surprised by this, and yet,” Tom says, muffled against the table, “I still wasn’t expecting a naked Harry making pancakes when I got in this morning.”

“Sorry?” Fionn says, but it sounds more like a question than anything else. He’s still frozen in the doorway, vaguely worried about the proximity of Harry’s dick to the stovetop. 

“Sorry,” Harry echoes, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

He turns around and leans back against the counter. Unsanitary, Fionn’s brain shouts, but his eyes get stuck on Harry’s soft cock and suddenly all he can think about his Harry sucking him off earlier and coming on his sheets. 

Harry’s smirking when Fionn’s eyes finally make their way up to his face, spatula in hand and looking simultaneously absurd and appealing. 

“Good morning,” he says, cocking his hips. 

Tom, Fionn reminds himself, and he drags his eyes away from Harry long enough to spot the pile of washing by the washer that only works half the time, and prays that a few of Harry’s things are still mixed in with his own.

Fionn digs a pair of black pants out and pads over to Harry, holding them out. He presses them against Harry’s chest, and Harry just stares at him, pancakes sizzling away on the stove and a grin curling across his lips. 

“Put them on, please.”

Harry looks down at the pants that Fionn has pressed against his chest, but doesn’t make a move to take them. 

“Can’t,” Harry says, leaning forward so he’s pressed against Fionn, warm and solid, “hands are full.”

It’s not a real excuse, as Harry’s only holding a spatula. Fionn knows he just likes to tease, it’s just unfortunate that Tom’s been forced to witness it this time.

“Please,” Tom groans from behind them as if on cue, “I genuinely did not think I was going to come home to this kind of drawn out foreplay.”

Fionn can feel the heat of a blush on his cheeks, but he just reaches out to tweak Harry’s nipple, then drops to his knees. 

He taps Harry’s shin, gestures to get him to lift his leg up so Fionn can get the pants on him, but he doesn’t move. When Fionn looks up at him with a glare, Harry’s just smirking down at him, free hand on his cock.

“Stop it,” Fionn says, trying to maintain his glare. 

“Haven’t done anything,” Harry says, and that’s part of the problem, Fionn thinks, “‘s just a good view, is all. Brings back some nice memories.”

Fionn hears Tom’s chair scrape across the floor before he has a chance to say anything, and he has to bite down on a smile, because he genuinely does feel a bit bad for putting Tom through this, but he should be used to this kind of thing by now. 

“I love you both, and I’m glad you’re happy,” Tom says from the relative safety of the hall, but no pancakes are good enough to sit through this.”

He punctuates it by shutting his door firmly, and Fionn can’t help but giggle, pressing his face against Harry’s thigh to muffle it. He pulls himself up after a minute, Harry’s pants still crumpled in his hand.

“Guess I don’t need those now,” Harry says, flipping the pancakes that miraculously haven’t burned. 

“I’m going back to bed,” Fionn says, and presses his hand over Harry’s mouth when Harry opens it to respond. 

Harry’s eyes darken when Fionn presses a little firmer, curls his fingers experimentally. Huh, he thinks. 

“I’m going back to bed, you’re going to finish these pancakes for us, and then you’re going to blow me again.”

He pulls his hand away from Harry’s mouth and replaces it with his lips.

“And then maybe I’ll blow you back,” he says against Harry’s mouth, then bites down on Harry’s lower lip.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
